Lest we Forget
by Devillsjustice
Summary: a short story of a girl singing a famous song, 'the band played walzing matilda' andtheghost of her grandfather


The pub was dark, with low lights illuminating the room, showing the solitary people drinking around the tables and bar. Sometimes groups would come in for a drink, sometimes no one was there at all. In the olden days, the place was packed to the rafters, with laughter and music. But, eventually people had forgotten about the places existence, forgotten about the music. In the middle of the floor, there was a raised podium, with a single spotlight trained on the exact middle of the floor.

The old door, a simple slab of pine that had lasted for as long as anyone cared to remember, was pushed open with a quiet creak. A young girl, barely 16 came inside, rubbing her arms in an attempt to regain some warmth back into her frozen body. And, although no one noticed him, a young boy came through as well, dressed in old fashioned clothes. He looked to be the same age as the girl, but no one could see him. The girl slowly walked up to the old barman, shuffling her feet. A scarf was wound around the lower half of her face, concealing it from view. She was dressed in summer clothes, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, even though it was the middle of winter. She slowly pulled down the scarf from her face, revealing lips that were blue and chapped. She took a deep breath, as if bracing herself for what was to come, and spoke.

"In advance, thank you. Thank you so much."

Then she turned away and walked to the raised podium, walking stiffly, as if afraid of what was to come. She climbed up the steps to the stage, and walked under the spotlight. The young boy, although no one could see him, stood next to her, staring at her as if worried she might walk away. As if his entire life hinged on what would happen next. The girl cleared her throat, smiling weakly when the drinkers stared in curiosity. Blinking slowly, she opened her mouth, and let her voice ring out among the room. Although scratchy, her voice was clear, and her passion evident.

_When I was a young man I carried my pack  
And I lived the free life of a rover  
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback  
I waltzed my Matilda all over  
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son  
It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be done  
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun  
And they sent me away to the war  
And the band played Waltzing Matilda  
As we sailed away from the quay  
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers  
We sailed off to Gallipoli _

The barman straightened up, with the rest of the bar following suit. The young boy seemed to smile, and a tear began to slowly slide down his cheek. The girl stood straighter, and she began to cry as well.

_How well I remember that terrible day  
How the blood stained the sand and the water  
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay  
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter  
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well  
He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells  
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell  
Nearly blew us right back to Australia  
But the band played Waltzing Matilda  
As we stopped to bury our slain  
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs  
Then we started all over again _

The girl started to sway softly, and her singing grew louder, stronger. She smiled, sadly, as if she could envision the songs lyrics happening right in front of her. Her eyes seemed to convey the depth of her words, and many of the people listening became more engrossed in the song, more absorbed in the story.

_So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed  
And they shipped us back home to Australia  
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane  
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla  
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay  
I looked at the place where my legs used to be  
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me  
To grieve and to mourn and to pity  
And the band played Waltzing Matilda  
As they carried us down the gangway  
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared  
Then turned all their faces away _

Some of the people in the bar shivered, imagining what would happen if that had happened to them. Both the boy and the girl were swaying to the tune now, with tears running down both their cheeks, and the boy mouthing the words of the song.

_And now every April I sit on my porch  
And I watch the parade pass before me  
And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march  
Reliving old dreams of past glory  
And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore  
The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war  
And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"  
And I ask myself the same question  
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda  
And the old men answer to the call  
But year after year their numbers get fewer  
Some day no one will march there at all _

The people in the room shifted in their chairs, trying to remember the last time that they had even considered going to the ANZAC parade. Some were even more uncomfortable, remembering that they were the ones who had asked that very same question. The old man at the bar closed his eyes and remembered the first ANZAC parade, remembered that he was there, watching his uncle march in place of his father, because his father had died. Tears ran down the old mans face as he reflected. The young girl paused in her song, looking down at the floor, tears falling freely down her face. The boy wiped a hand at his face, and stared at the dampness on his hand, as if he was surprised. He looked towards the girl with a sad expression, surprised when the girl tilted her head towards her audience. And whispered , so softly, that they could barely hear it. Pausing, as if the words caused her pain, she sang the last lyrics of her song.

_Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda  
Who'll come a waltzing Matilda with me  
And their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Billabong  
Who'll come-a-waltzing Matilda with me? _

And faintly, so faint that you could barely hear it, the boy's voice had intertwined with hers, and his hand grasped hers. Turning slowly, the girl finally saw her partners face. The boy smiled, kissed her cheek, and whispered in her ear.

"Thank you."

He kissed her cheek again, and turned towards the audience who could finally see him. His clothes, so outdated, slowly melted to become the ANZAC uniform. Smiling again, he turned towards the door, and slowly walked towards it, fading with each step he took. The girl, watching the boy walk away, smiled softly and said a simple sentence.

"Lest we forget."

The boy turned and smiled once more, and then vanished completely. The girl walked up to the barkeep, a shy smile on her face.

"Lest we forget. And thank you again."

She turned and walked towards the door, pulling up her scarf around her face.

"wait."

She slowly turned, facing the old man. He still had tears running down his face, but now he smiled as well. He reached under the bar, pulling out something he had long since forgotten, his father's ANZAC jacket. He took it out once a year, to repair it. But now, he gave it to the girl, wrapping it around her thin shoulders.

"I'm thinking that I have to thank you instead."

She smiled, and walked out the door, clutching the old jacket around her shoulders. It was only later that the man realised that it was ANZAC day, and that she was one of the grandchildren that he had seen, marching with her Grandfathers medals pinned proudly to her chest.

. . . . .

Lest we forget.


End file.
